


Actions Speak Louder

by AlwaysKeepAiming



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Designated Survivor - Freeform, Established Relationship, F/M, Jon Snow is Not a Stark, POV Alternating, Politics, Snow Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:21:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25831255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysKeepAiming/pseuds/AlwaysKeepAiming
Summary: Countless people were dead, Jon was now the Warden, she had no idea where her children were, but all Sansa could think was how ugly the drapes were. Funny how trauma works.ORThe Jonsa Designated Survivor AU literally no one asked for but I wrote anyways.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 69





	Actions Speak Louder

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome!  
> This is a modern AU piece inspired by the TV show Designated Survivor (It's on Netflix). I could just see Jon and Sansa in this situation and this came spilling out of my brain. I also seem incapable of writing unmarried, kidless Jon and Sansa so just enjoy that sprinkled in.  
> A couple of context notes, Winterfell is like the White House, Winter Town like DC, House of Lords & Ladies is Congress, The Night's Watch is a branch of the military similar to the Marines.  
> Please enjoy!

One: Jon  
Jon found fewer things more peaceful than the streets of Winter Town in the mornings. For as long as he could remember, morning runs before the sun graced the sky had been a staple of his routine. It grounded him and prepared him for whatever the day would have in store for him. He enjoyed watching his neighborhood wake up around him and see life flood the streets.

By the time he turned back down his street after his three-mile loop, the sun had risen, and some people were already beginning their commute into work. Slowing to a walk, he took his earbuds out, pausing his music along the way. After a quick key code, the front door unlocked, and he could hear the beginning of his family stirring. 

Directly in his line of sight stood his wife, already dressed for work with her red hair tied into a low bun at the nape of her neck. While he went on his run in the mornings, Sansa started her day just as early, styling her outfit and hair before waking the children. By the time he returned, she already had waffles in the toaster, coffee brewing, and two of their three children awake. 

“I’m not kidding Benji. Get up now or we will be late.” Sansa called up the stairs, bouncing a sleepy Lyarra on her hip. They shared a smile as he entered their townhouse and she rolled her eyes once. Sansa had only grown more beautiful in the years since their wedding nearly 6 years ago. With three little ones, a full-time job, and a husband in politics, she ran their household to a tight schedule and high standards. 

But it was somehow peaceful too. They had a beautiful home, three wonderful children that they were both devoted to, and healthy careers. Jon and Sansa both worked hard but did their best to make it home for dinner around the table every night, and make sure their children knew they are loved. 

At the kitchen island sat their oldest, already picking at his waffles, hair still messy from the night before. Lyarra gave another yawn but seemed to be more alert, giving him a small smile. Jon kissed Sansa, brushing a finger over Lyarra’s cheek. “Go shower, you smell,” Sansa stated, giving him a once over before turning back to the kitchen. “Now Benjamin Snow!” 

Tight schedule and high standards indeed. 

Two: Sansa  
Sansa walked into her office five minutes early, with hot tea in hand and emails already blowing up her phone. “Morning Sansa!” Her assistant Jeyne greeted her, a stack of portfolios in her hand. “How are the kiddos?” 

“Despite Benji’s best efforts, I managed to get them to school and daycare on time.” Sansa smiled, eager to get started on the days work ahead. She loved her job. After moving back North, she doubted she would ever find a job that would compare to hers down in King’s Landing. However, she could honestly say now she found a great job, styling Northern celebrities and public figures. 

Jeyne followed her in, putting the stack on her clean desk, “One of these days, you are going to show up late and I will win the office pool.” Her impeccable time management was one of her best attributes and sincerely hoped that day would never come. Waving Jeyne off, she dove into the portfolios, eager to get started on her next project. 

Around lunchtime her phone rang, interrupting her current train of thought. “Hey mum,” She greeted her mother, who called her practically daily for an update on Jon and the children. 

“Sansa darling, have you heard back from the boys’ coach yet?” Business as usual for the call. Catelyn wanted to be in on everything, despite living out of the North in her home country of the Riverlands. She moved away a few years ago, bringing Sansa’s two youngest brothers with her. Of course, those two were grown and starting their own careers and now none of the Starks were in the same location. Having her family move away was terribly hard, but the phone calls and facetimes made up for it. Thank goodness for technology.

The conversation had an easy flow and went well into her lunch hour. The discussed Lyarra’s development, Bran’s new girlfriend, her boy’s upcoming hockey season, and the newest gossip from Catelyn’s sewing circle. Despite her growling stomach, she enjoyed these conversations too much to care. “Is Jon ready for tonight? Do you know what you’ll wear?” Her mum asked. Sansa could almost picture her out on her patio, hot tea in hand. 

“Don’t you know me? I’ve had our outfits planned for weeks.” Tonight, was the Northern Address and both she and Jon were expected to attend. It was her goal that they’d be amongst the best dressed. “He seems good, a bit nervous but good. He just wants all of his points to make it into the address.

“Knowing they fool that Bolton is, he is probably cutting out the only decent parts of his speech, which will, unfortunately, include Jon’s part.” Her mother fell into the group of people unsupportive of the current Warden. Sansa tried to remain neutral on politics but even she felt frustrated at the division it caused in the country. Especially as Warden Bolton seemed determined to undo all the work that her father spent years doing

It still seemed weird for her mum to defend Jon. Catelyn had been wary of the lanky, brooding boy with skinned knees that Robb brought home one day after a fight at school since she met him. She always thought Jon was a bad influence on Robb and the rest of Sansa’s siblings. But Robb loved Jon, and Ned, Sansa’s late father, served as a father figure to Jon who never knew his own father. 

Even though Catelyn remained distant and cautious of Jon, she held his hand during his mother’s funeral, cried when he left for basic training, and sent care packages every few months. When he returned and their relationship blossomed, Catelyn welcomed Jon with open arms. Now Catelyn had come to a strong relationship with her son-in-law and remained very supportive of him. 

“If Bolton knows what’s good for him, he will listen to Jon.” Catelyn declared. 

Sansa couldn’t help her smile, “I’ll let him know you said that. It’ll make his day.” She already had her phone out to text Jon. Today was shaping up to be a big day for him, and she was certain the kind words would lift him up. 

Three: Jon  
He often wondered if walking into Winterfell would ever get old. The huge building was the home of the Warden, the political epicenter of the nation, and served as a testament to the strength of the North. People like to claim it had stood for 1000 years and would for 1000 more. Of course, these days, under Warden Roose Bolton, Jon also wondered if the North would last another day. 

They faced constant threats from both the South and the Free Lands, the economy was at a low, and food scarcity and insecurity faced nearly a third of their people. The Warden in question seemed more interested in erasing the hard work the previous Wardens had done and the new baby his much younger than him, wife just had. Those facts kept Jon from throwing in the towel and quitting his position in the Warden’s Cabinet. 

Being Secretary of Homeland Defense was not something he had wanted. In fact, he never saw himself in public office, period, content to be a soldier and work his way up through the military. Circumstances changed though and when his brothers of the Night Watch sent him to Winterfell to liaison for them, one thing lead to another and suddenly he was climbing the political ladder. 

“Mr. Secretary! About time you showed up. My father is looking for you.” Ramsey Bolton appeared out of nowhere before Jon had even opened his coat. Unlike other countries, it wasn’t uncommon for the Warden to appoint positions to his family. Ramsey currently served as an advisor to his father, often acting as a thorn in Jon’s side. The two men rarely saw eye to eye, especially considering the past Ramsey had with Sansa. 

“Mr. Bolton. I met with your father in five.” Jon had no energy to parlay with Ramsey today, dismissing him without even a nod in his direction, disappearing into the throngs of people running from room to room like bees flying from flower to flower.  
Unfortunately, Ramsey stuck with him and continued, “Ah yes, I suppose I should wish you good luck then.” He sneered, acting like he knew something that Jon clearly didn’t. To be fair, Ramsey often acted like this, desperately wanting to see Jon removed from his position. 

“It’s just a review before the Address tonight Ramsey. I don’t need luck.” Jon resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he hung his jacket up on the coat rack. Tonight, Warden Bolton would address all members of the government, most of which would attend in person and the people of the North during the uncreatively named Northern Address. 

Jon had submitted his desired talking points to Bolton’s chief of staff and speechwriters over a week ago. Today was nothing more than just making sure the Warden didn’t have any questions or concerns. It should be a quick and straightforward meeting and then Jon could get on with the rest of his day. 

In hindsight, he probably should have paid attention to Ramsey’s words and dumb smirk. Then he would not have been as caught off guard when Warden Bolton recommended that he leave his position and return to the Night's Watch. Not only was a step down in positions, but it also would involve uprooting his whole family to move from the largest city in the North to one of the most remote. 

How in the world was he supposed to tell Sansa?

Four: Sansa  
The kitchen served as the center of their townhouse; at any given point you could find any or all of their family around the island or in the breakfast nook. When Jon walked into the house after work and didn’t immediately come and greet them all in the kitchen, Sansa knew that whatever happened with the Warden was bad. Instead, he barely acknowledged them as he opened his coat and ducked immediately into his office, which was right near the front door, phone pressed up to his ear. 

“What’s dad mad at?” Robb, their eldest asked, his math’s book perched on the edge of the counter, so he could get a better look at it, and pick at his apple slices. As the oldest, he was the only one who dealt with homework after school. He didn’t seem to mind it much, especially math, as he was excelling at it currently. 

Sansa wiped the countertop once, having finished meal prep for dinner tonight. She and Gilly, their nanny, shared a look. “I’m sure it’s just last-minute details for tonight. Don’t forget it’s a big deal for your dad.” Gilly spoke up from the nook where she sat coloring with Benji and Lyarra. 

However, Sansa knew better, and her husband was dealing with something much larger than just last-minute nerves or details. Hanging the towel up, she headed to Jon’s office, slipping in silently. He faced away from her, shoulders hunched, still on the phone. “Uh-huh, yeah, yeah.”

While she waited, she tended to the room, straightening the coat he had thrown on the back of the chair, and put his briefcase on his desk. She didn’t often clean in here, respecting his space, but something had happened, and she needed to do something to keep busy until he hung up the phone.

“We will be ready. Yeah you too, bye.” With a final click, Jon flung his phone on to the, thankfully, cushioned chair before groaning loudly into his hands. 

Cocking an eyebrow up, she asked, “Are you okay?” 

“No, bad day.” Obviously, Sansa could tell from just about everything since he had come home. She had hoped for a little more context.

“I’m sorry,” She straightened the curtains before walking over to him. Waiting until Jon removed his hands, she laid her hand on his cheek, brushing over the stubble. “do you want to talk about it?”

Instead, Jon wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into her shoulder. “Not right now. Let me just hold you.” Still not the context she wanted, but she had a feeling this was just one of those times that she would have to settle without it. She knew her husband would tell her when he was ready.

It felt nice just to hold him. His sweater felt soft and despite the cold weather that late October brought, he felt warm. They hugged each other for a while, simply content. 

“Mum! I need help!” Robb yelled from the kitchen. Sansa stifled a groan. Robb must have finished his math homework and moved on to his least favorite homework.

Leaning back, Jon only tightened his grip, refusing to let their moment end, “Shh, let Gilly handle it. It’s why we have her.” He whispered. 

“MUM!” Robb yelled again, this time she could hear Gilly telling him to be patient. Gilly truly had been a lifesaver since they had hired her four years ago. She had just moved to Winter Town and was looking for a fresh start after what Sansa learned had been a truly terrible relationship. She was great with their children and Sansa felt as if the younger woman was a member of their family. 

Pushing against his arms, Sansa pressed a quick kiss to his lips, “No, I promised him. It’s his grammar.” She was miserable at math, and grateful she never had to help him with that, grammar, on the other hand, had always been one of Sansa’s best subjects. “Besides you need to get ready for tonight. Dinner is almost done; the car will be here at 7.” 

She had just finished her instructions when Jon ducked his gaze at the floor and bit his lip. A telling sign, something was wrong. This evening had been meticulously planned for the past three weeks. She couldn’t even imagine what had happened. “What?”  
“About that, I was named designated survivor,” Jon admitted, unwilling to meet her eyes. 

“Pardon?” Loosely, she was familiar with the term. Somebody who sat out at large events and became Warden if something happened. She had never heard of someone becoming Warden because they were the designated survivor and seriously doubted it would ever. 

Her eyebrows furrowed together, and Jon’s face simply dropped into one of sadness. “I’m sorry, but Bolton. Listen, I know you were looking forward to tonight.” She had been and selfishly she thought of the dark blue couture dress she had picked out upstairs. The Address was one of those reasons to get dressed up and go out. The eyes of the Nation would be on the capital tonight and it made her stomach sink to know they would not be there.

However, when she looked at Jon again, she quickly forgot about the dress and night out. As a member of Bolton’s cabinet, Jon really should be in attendance tonight. To not have the Secretary of Homeland Defense would make quite a statement, feeding the rumor mill for weeks. There would be countless amounts of questions that Jon would have to answer tomorrow.

Fixing her face to a more neutral gaze, she nodded, “It’s okay.” 

“Sans-.” He started but she cut him off with another kiss to his cheek.

“No really, wash up for dinner.” She turned and left the room, leaving Jon to have a moment to himself. Dinner needed to be plated, and her son still needed help. It was just a night, she could and would get over it quickly. Jon didn’t need her disappointment too.

Five: Jon  
“He cannot do this.” Sansa paced the length of the conference room, arms crossed, and pivoting delicately on one of her stilettos. Telling her about the job change Warden Bolton requested went about as well as he expected. It first shocked her, forcing him to repeat the conversation as verbatim as he could. She desperately wanted each and every detail. He actually felt grateful for the Warden for making him designated survivor. 

Warden Bolton told him it was an opportunity to discuss the new job with Sansa without his kids around. However, Jon knew the Warden simply wanted an answer sooner and later, not letting Jon delay in having a conversation about it with his wife. But the conference room they were supposed to be watching the Address in was spacious and private, making it the ideal situation. Besides, he hated keeping things from Sansa, preferring to tell her sooner rather than later.

Currently the Address was well underway, but it played on low in the background, definitely not the priority. Instead, Sansa had become heated and continued to vent about the situation. Jon watched her pace, rested his head in his hand as he sat in one of the chairs at the table. A dull pain a throbbed and he desperately wanted to relieve it before a full headache took root. 

“Technically speaking he can, he is the Warden.” He explained cautiously, knowing very well no matter what he said would have little effect on her. “Advil?”

She gestured aimlessly as he reached for her purse, “Middle pocket in the small black bag. This is such a step back in your career!” 

Jon glanced into her large designer bag, not certain at all where to look. “I’d be Lord Commander of the Night's Watch; I’d run the whole thing.” He explained, pulling out her phone and wallet first, but still seeing no small black bag that she claimed to have. 

“You are the Secretary of Homeland Defense.” Sansa declared, marching over to grab the purse out of his lap. She confidently reached into it to pull out the small makeup bag in question that Jon felt certain had not been there seconds ago. “You currently oversee way more than just the Night’s Watch. Not to mention we have a life here. Our children are established here, my work is here. We belong in Winter Town! Not up in the Gift!” 

She slammed down the Advil bottle before throwing her bag back onto a chair and taking off on her fervent pace once more. He hated the idea of moving just as much as she did. He didn’t want to uproot his family and move them to the coldest and most remote part of the country. Sansa loved the city and he didn’t want to take that from her. Unfortunately, no matter how much he thought, he could see a way out of this. 

“I know darling. I know. But I don’t know how to say no.” Jon admitted.

“Just walk into his office and tell him no.” She turned and crossed her arms, fixing her one of her infamous stares, notorious for getting her children and younger siblings to do what they were supposed to. “You care about this country. You are constantly fighting for its benefit. To help! Why on earth would Bolton want to send one of the best members of his cabinet away? It doesn’t make any sense.” 

For the most part, Jon had support in Winterfell and of various parts of the government. He got respect for his years of service, and the House of Lords and Ladies welcomed his honesty. However, while he never held a position under Ned Stark, he remained the biggest reminder of the late Warden’s successful career. Bolton had worked for years removing the lingering staff members from Ned Stark and now he was down to just Jon and a few others. 

“I disagree with him. Everyone knows I don’t approve of all his choices and he doesn’t approve of all mine. We don’t get along. It’s been a long time coming.” Bolton never wanted to appoint him into the position of Secretary of Homeland Defense, but four years ago he was still outnumbered by Stark loyalists and conceded to put Jon in that position to appease those who thought he was a sinking ship. Turns out they were absolutely right and Bolton was a disaster of a Warden, but now Jon felt a responsibility to the people to try and right as many wrongs as Bolton created. 

“It’s not right!” She stamped her foot and if Jon himself wasn’t so upset he’d probably find it cute and endearing how she reacted to the news. 

Just then the lights flickered and the tv which had been playing the address on low cut out turning to static. It forced the attention away from their conversation, back to the TV. “That’s weird.” Jon grabbed the remote, flickering through the channels to find only the ones playing the Address were static. 

Sansa covered her mouth and gasped, “Oh my god! Jon!” With a shaky finger, she pointed out the window. She had a clear view from where she stood while Jon struggled to see what made his wife turn even paler than she normally was. Right as he stood, the secret service threw the door open and four different agents stormed in.

“Ma’am get away from the window, Sir, I need your phone, yours too.” One agent demanded, snatching his phone from off the table. Sansa remained frozen until one of the agents grabbed her arm, pulling her towards the door. 

He darted around the agent to look out the window. “Jon, did you see that?” Sansa gasped. An agent had a grip around his arm, but it didn’t matter. Jon had already seen enough. Dark skies lit red with smoke billowing up right from where the capital building was and hundreds on Northerners were attending the address. 

That much smoke meant one big fire, which could only mean one thing. Someone had attacked his nation. 

Six: Sansa  
Sansa doubted she’d ever make this good of time down the First Men’s Parkway again. Police cars stopped traffic at every intersection, allowing them to fly through without their driver even touching the brake. The secret service agent behind the wheel drove with such an urgency, it was concerning. It should have been just another Tuesday night but the dark clouds of smoke billowing just to their left and nonstop flashing blue and red lights reminded her that was far from the case. 

Jon sat beside her, one hand clutched in a tight fist against his mouth and his brows burrowed tightly together. A few curls had escaped his ponytail, adding to his frazzled look. She figured that she didn’t look all that much better. Nausea had probably drained all the color from her already pale face and she couldn’t stop her hands from fidgeting with whatever was within grasp. Currently, she twisted her bracelet around, over and over again, staring at the smoke out the window. 

“The children, Jon. We need to get the children.” While she directed her request to Jon, she knew the agent in the front seat was the only one able to answer. Her babies, her poor babies, were probably scared out of their minds right now. They did not live too close to the capital site, but close enough to a fire station that the sirens had probably woken them up. 

“We’ve already set agents to collect them from your home ma’am. They will meet us at Winterfell.” He explained. In the blur of the erupted chaos, Sansa had missed his name and she couldn’t bring herself to ask. 

Jon shifted in his seat, pulling at his pant leg, “And what will happen when we get to Winterfell?” 

“That depends, sir.” The no named agent responded in the same monotone drone he had every time he answered one of their questions. 

Sansa knew exactly what information they were waiting on, but Jon felt the need to ask, “On what?” 

This time, the agent turned in his seat to address them, “If Warden Bolton is dead.” A lump caught in her throat. If that proved to be true than the designated survivor would be next in line to be sworn in. Jon sucked in a breath and without any sort of confirmation, Sansa just knew that their lives were never going to be the same again.

As it turned out, Roose Bolton was in fact dead. 

Sansa had never seen Winterfell more despondent in her life. Every TV played the news footage from the capital site. People cried as they watched, and desperately called friends and loved ones on their phones. The whole wing reeked of fear and a kind of terror Sansa remember from the night her father died. She had never wanted to feel that again.

Jon blindly reached for her hand and they clung to each other as more nameless people ushered them down the hallway. Faces blurred together as Sansa chanted to herself to be strong. A tall man with dark hair gestured to them to come to the center of the room. He seemed to be the only one not in an emotional wreck currently. He must have been a higher-up member of Bolton’s staff with his aura of authority. Or was it now Jon’s staff? 

They joined the tall man as another chubbier man walked forward wearing the signature neckpiece of the Maesters. “This is Maester Tarly, he served under Grand Maester Wolkan and will swear you in sir.” The tall man pushed the Maester forward.

“Ma’am, this is a piece from the Weirwood Tree” Maester Tarly unfolded the cloth that protected the branch. Weirwood Trees were incredibly rare and since her family had never been particularly religious, she had never seen a piece up close. Now she held one of the most sacred artifacts in North in her hands, “if you could hold it, and if you, sir, could place your right hand over it and repeat after me.” 

Jon’s motions were deliberate and almost robotic. She could not believe they stood here, in a place that she had once called home. She watched as his mouth formed the words Maester Tarly had him say, but his voice sounded hollow in her ears.

“I, Jonathan Aegon Snow, do solemnly vow to execute the office of Warden of the North to the best of my abilities. I swear to support, protect, and lead this Nation into further preservation of the ideals, loyalties, and people of the North. I swear this, on the old gods and new.” 

Maester Tarly smiled and went to grab the wood piece from her hands. “Thank you, Warden Snow.” 

“This way Warden, Mrs. Snow we have someone to take you up to residency.” As soon as she returned the wood fragment to Maester Tarly, Jon was quickly ushered away. Yet another agent pulled on her arm as she tried to offer the calmest, most reassuring smile to Jon she could manage. She hoped he saw the message in her eyes, that she loved him, and that they could do this. 

“Mrs. Snow.” The agent tried to get her attention. She didn’t need directions; she could never forget the halls of Winterfell. It was the queerest feeling of Deja vu ever. She vowed never to set foot in Winterfell again after what had happened to her family. 

Now it was her home. 

Seven: Jon  
Eight years ago, Jon and Sansa’s whole world changed. Jon had just returned from the Night’s Watch to Winter’s Town and Winterfell to serve as a liaison for his brothers. He was 28, painfully single, and joyfully reconnected with his second family, the Starks. Also, in town for the summer was Sansa. 

The proper, snooty, and kiss up young girl that Jon remembered had grown into a brilliant young lady, full of life and desire to get every moment. He didn’t know all that had happened to her while she attended college and started her career in King’s Landing, but he knew there were lows just as there were highs. It shaped her into a person that Jon fell in love with after a single conversation. 

Two weeks later, he asked her on a date, she politely declined. 

One month after, on a political trip, her family was shot before her eyes. Ned died instantly, Robb lost his fight later in the hospital, Arya pulled through, barely, and Bran was left paralyzed from the waist down. 

As the whole nation mourned, Sansa and Jon drowned their sorrows in a bottle of vodka and whiskey respectfully. One drunken thing led to another. They found out she was pregnant only a few weeks after the funeral. 

They weren’t in a relationship, in fact, they each had budding relationships with other people. They agreed to stay friendly for the sake of the baby. Co-parenting with her was easy, so easy Jon found himself falling all over again. This time, she reciprocated, and they started a relationship resulting in a marriage and two more children. 

Now, watching her get escorted away made his stomach sink even further. He could tell the smile on her face was painted on and he wanted to run to her side, hold her close, and wait for the chaos to end. His old commander used to say love was the death of duty, but in this case, duty won out and he let people pull him away. 

People flooded around him, taking him from place to place, talking his ear off. Bolton’s deputy chief of staff, never left his side, constantly having something else to say or news to report from ground zero. Jon saw parts of Winterfell he didn’t even know existed, interacting with military officials, all trying to push his hand into starting a war. 

He didn’t want war. Correction, he didn’t want a random war. With his background in the Night’s watch, he knew a military response was needed. But currently, he had no idea who their enemy was. He wasn’t willing to wage war with just anyone. They talked around and over him, making it all too apparent how Bolton had dealt with these people. Bolton had never served in the army and he could tell by how the generals, admirals, and commanders spoke that they took advantage of that fact, manipulating Bolton into doing what they wanted.

Jon however, spent 10 years with the Watch, first at the academy, and then in active service. He knew strategy, he knew this game and unlike Bolton, had experience in war. A part of him itched to get a phone call to his friend, Edd Tolliet, a commander in the Night’s Watch, to get a strike team together. But he needed something for them to strike at, and tonight they weren’t going to get it, no matter how much the army general yelled at him.

Needless to say, the military brass learned very quickly he was not going to be the pushover that Bolton was. He left the military control center, red in the face, having just dressed down the army general in question. Maester Tarly, who also had not left his side, chimed “Well, I certainly don’t think they were expecting the Commander in Chief to actually command tonight.” as they headed to the Warden’s office to meet with a speechwriter before he addressed the nation in less than an hour. 

Maester Tarly seemed like a good guy, and Jon felt grateful to have someone like him right now, who helped lighten the situation. He told himself that if he could get through losing Robb and Ned all those years ago, then he could get through this, but a part of him doubted it. He wanted Sansa, he wanted his children, and he desperately wanted to return to the simplicity of the morning that felt like years ago. 

Eight: Sansa  
Countless people were dead, Jon was now the Warden, she had no idea where her children were, but all Sansa could think was how ugly the drapes were. Funny how trauma works. She would never forget how the birds flew away against the blue sky as she laid on the ground and bullets rain on her family. She had an eerie feeling that the one thing she would remember from tonight is the gaudy red drapes with thick white crosses on it. 

She stood in the middle of the living room staring at the drapes, fully and entirely uncertain what to do. Her mind barely processed the bits of information as they came by, racing like the bullet trains through the countryside.

Lady of Winterfell. 

Her mother had been Lady of Winterfell. Despite being a nonnative Northerner, she had served the role with grace and poise for the nearly 20 years her father held the position of Warden of the North. Her mother was a favorite amongst most social circles and always helped support the charities important to her heart. She raised her children, threw events and galas, all while pushing for social change. 

Would Sansa be able to do the same? She didn’t have the degrees her mother had or the years’ experience as a politician’s wife. Jon had never been elected to anything, instead appointed positions through his military expertise, defense strategies, and honesty. They never needed to win people over, give speeches, or deal with the less attractive aspects of political life. Jon’s actions had always been enough. 

A secret service agent ducked into the living room, “Mrs. Snow?” She didn’t want to respond. Tonight, she had been called Mrs. Snow more times than she had been in the past year. She was Sans to her friends and family, Sansa at work, darling to Jon, and Ms. Sansa to the boys who knocked on the backdoor seeing if Robb could come and play. She didn’t know who Mrs. Snow was, and a part of her was terrified to find out. 

“Your children are arriving.” The agent gestured to the door and that jolted her out of her frozen thoughts. She raced out of the residency to the elevator to take her to the only entrance currently open.

She saw them enter Winterfell, looking very out of place, as the only children amongst the many people running around, trying to make sense of the chaos of the night. Her heart burst at the mere sight of them, relieved that they had arrived safely. Robb noticed her first, quickly getting the attention of his siblings. 

“Mummy! Mummy!” Robb and Benji were running down the hall at full speed to her. Lyarra tumbled behind holding her stuffed wolf by the neck. Sansa had no idea what to do except fall to her knees and hold her arms open to try and collect all three of her children in her arms. 

Their questions came at a rapid-fire rate, barreling from her sons’ mouths. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Why are we here?”

“Where’s daddy?” 

“Where are we?” 

She tried to shush them best she could while calming Lyarra’s tears and sniffles. Her mother was absolutely right, there was no multitasking like a mother of multiple kids. “It’s okay, I know it’s scary but it’s okay. You’re all okay.” 

They were all dressed for bed, clearly having been roused to be ushered to Winterfell. They seemed small, tired, and worst of all scared. But she also knew this was bigger than her arms could protect them from. As of approximately 30 minutes ago, their whole lives changed. They were now the first Children of the North. Nothing would ever be the same. 

“I want daddy.” Benji rubbed his eyes, as his lip quivered. It didn’t surprise her to find Robb and Lyarra nodding their heads at Benji’s request. They were a very close-knit family and she knew Jon would provide comfort that she couldn’t. But no matter how much they willed it, Jon was not going to walk down the hallway anytime soon. And it was not like she could take them to him, she wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for him. 

“I know sweetheart,” She brushed his wild hair out of his eyes. He needed a haircut, something he had been fighting her on for the past week, “I know.” She wished Jon were here too. She wanted to hold his hand and hear him say it would be okay. 

Instead, she needed to be the rock. Jon, wherever he was on the vast grounds of Winterfell, now had many other things to do, and she needed to be strong for him and for her children. “Listen to me,” Grabbing one of Robb’s and one of Benji’s hands each, she was able to keep an arm around Lyarra and feel connected to each of them. 

Looking at them individually Sansa made sure she had each of their attention, “Some people, some very bad people did something terrible, and your daddy needs to fix it. To help.” 

Despite Robb’s lip quiver, he tried to appear determined, “Dad can fix it. Dad can fix anything.” Her son, with only eight years of life, said that exact thing she needed to hear. Jon had yet to encounter a problem he couldn’t fix. He could do this, and she could too. They would let their actions speak for them, just as they always had. 

And she would be strong, just as her mother had been before her.

Nine: Jon  
He did not want to do this. Jon stood in the Warden’s Office, wearing a suit that wasn’t his, reading a speech that he didn’t write, and feeling a lot like a child playing dress-up. He felt a fool and was thinking there might be a half dozen people more qualified to be Warden then him. 

“That is not your suit.” Sansa’s voice startled him. She had appeared by his side, seemingly untouched by the chaos. It was if she were the eye of the storm of the evening and when she joined him by his side, the chaos evaporated. 

He glanced down at the black suit and blue tie that had been thrust into his hands 10 minutes ago with the direct order to go change and put himself together. “No, it is not, honestly I don’t even know where it's coming from.” He didn’t even know how they found out his suit size. 

Sansa adjusted his lapel and smoothed the tie, “Doesn’t matter, it looks good on you. Although you know a full Windsor suits you better.” For a final touch, she straightened the pin of the Northern Flag. 

It shocked him how calm and in control she seemed. The only difference from before is her hair; she had tied it up from loose locks into a high ponytail. He fixed her a stare, letting his mouth drop open to reflect his shock. “Seven Hells Sans, how are you so calm?” 

His voice came out a little louder than intended, gathering the attention of a few staff workers setting up the cameras and lights. Sansa hushed him as she glanced around, “Someone has to be, here, come here real quick.” 

With their hands intertwined, Sansa lead him out a side door to the small patio that surrounded the Warden’s office. Despite the windows, it felt blissfully secluded and Jon welcomed the cool breeze to calm his hot nerves. The October air blew by, rustling her ponytail and his own hair as well. To some, it would be too cold to be outdoors with no jacket, but to Jon, it was a refreshing change from the chaos indoors.

Sansa squeezed his hand, “It’s going to be okay Jon.” Her attempt at reassuring him was nice but did nothing to silence the doubt in his brain. He tore his hand away and stepped further out to the patio, desperate to pretend he was anywhere but the grounds of Winterfell. 

“Is it? The country has gone to shit and I’m the one who has to pull it out. I can’t help but think that someone, somewhere made a terrible mistake.” Facing away from her, he stared out into the dark land surrounding Winterfell. He could make out some trees from the bright lights of the building but that’s all. 

“I disagree.” She stated, annoying plainly. Sansa was decisive and loyal, two traits she inherited directly from her father. She also remained the optimist that he remembered her being as a young girl. There was rarely a situation she would back down from or couldn’t see the bright side in. Another Stark trait. 

Normally he loved it, a perfect yin to his more pessimistic, brooding default demeanor. Now, he wanted her to see the reality of the situation that the whole Nation was going too look to a man vastly underqualified to be Warden to fix them after one of the greatest tragedies they’ve faced in years. 

He sighed loudly, “Sans-.” 

She didn’t let him even get started before she returned to his side, a hand on his arm. “I do! I think you are the only one who can.” Once more Jon pulled away from her, rubbing his face with his hands. It didn’t deter her though; she only spoke louder and stronger. 

“You have always been a good man in a storm. You are the one people look to when things go bad. You showed that at the watch, you showed that with my family, and you’ve shown that every day since you started fighting for this country. You are a good man Jon Snow. The North is lucky to have you.”

She followed right behind him, making sure he heard every word she spoke. And he did. Actually, he did more than just hear her, each word took root in his heart and in his mind. Strength in chaos: it was how he rose in the Watch and how he survived this long in the political mind field of Winterfell. 

Jon stalled long enough for Sansa to come up behind him and wrap her arms around him, “I am lucky to have you.” This one she whispered, just for the two of them, holding on like she was the life vest that would keep him from sinking. 

His first thought after being sworn in was of his family and if he had just doomed them all. However, since then, he selfishly had been pulled away and had not had a chance to check in on any of them. Grabbing her hand he kissed it as he turned to face her once more. 

“What about you, what about our children? Gods, how are they doing will all of this?” Concern flushed his body as he got an overwhelming urge to run to the residency to check on them. Between conversations he got a whisper in the ear that his children had arrived safely, but nothing about the trauma or fear they brought with them. 

“The children are fine. They got here about half an hour ago and are up in residency, distracted by a movie. They’re a little confused, very tired, and will have about a million questions for you. They’re fine Jon.” Sansa caressed his face. Even with the poor lighting, Sansa looked as beautiful as ever, a radiant force to be reckoned with. For the first time that night, he felt grounded. 

“And you? How are you doing?” His eyes darted around her face, wanting to remember her like this, and wanting to get every bit of strength he could from her support. If he was going to do this, he needed her like a man needs air. “You didn’t ask for this.” 

“No, but I asked for you.” Sansa smiled brightly, leaning over to lightly peck his lips. Staying close, she whispered as her breath danced against his mouth, “My place is by your side. Whatever path you go down, I go down. No matter the circumstance, we do it together. Always.”

Jon returned her peck with a deeper kiss, “Always.” Her statement was reminiscent of their vows six years ago as they stood in front of their friends and family, pledging eternal love. The relief he felt was more refreshing than the cold night air. He rested his forehead on hers, pausing for a moment, drinking in the feeling of her in his arms. 

Until they were interrupted by a staff member loudly clearing his throat. “Warden Snow? We are ready for you.”

End


End file.
